Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Nous nous cherchions avant que de nous être vus, et par des rapports que nous oyions l'un de l'autre, qui faisaient en notre affection plus d'effort que ne porte la raison des rapports, je crois par quelque ordonnance du ciel ; nous nous embrassions par nos noms.” - Les Essais, livre Ier, chapitre XXVIII - Montaigne

Nobody’s ever born ready. Jeongin learns that pretty early.

His bag is against the mirror of a lonely dance hall. He repeats himself what steps to move: breath in, back straight, gentle movements of the hands. Jeongin is eighteen and has danced ever since he was six. Dance is rigour, technique, patience. At odds, his soul is brave, messy, impatient. Jeongin grew up and his dancing with him; years of practise, sweat and desire were necessary to lead him where he is now. Jeongin is eighteen, but, as his feet leave the floor, he’s been able to reach further places than the other part of the hall. He’s concentrated, his mind is completely focused on the choreography. Probably, he doesn’t realise how his dream is getting nearer and nearer; his dream started to take shape not so long ago.

Not so long ago, his teacher sent him an email, confirming that he has been accepted. He is going to London. Actually, Jeongin hadn’t imagined his life would be made of rehearsals, stages, choreographies, theatres. Although he’s still in his little town quite far from the chaotic and modern Seoul, he is starting to taste the first flavours of success. It would be pointless denying the struggles he had to overcome in order to be where he is now, but for now, he’s joyful. The exam at the renowned Academy of London will be the beginning of his incredible career, or that’s what his teacher told him. However, before closing the luggage and taking the airplane, Jeongin knows he doesn’t only have to reach the level of the dancers that will be there with him, he has to surpass them. He must be outstanding. The expectation is vibrating on his skin, the blood inside his veins seems to be dancing at the same pace of the music playing. If he closed his eyes, he would imagine himself on a true stage of a true theatre, with a public clapping for him.

At this point of the story, while Jeongin is practicing all alone, someone sneaks into the room, making Jeongin fall on the floor due to the sudden break-in. His fall is so noisy and hilarious, that makes the person laugh. After having cussed, Jeongin looks up at the person who decided to interrupt him. Jisung. Han Jisung. His best friend.

He takes a deep breath, Jeongin can see his excitement flooding from a wide and incredulous smile, “It’s ready.” He says, “You got to listen with your own ears. It’s crazy.”

Jeongin’s gaze switches to the clock hung over the wall, “I fear I can’t, Sung. It’s too early, and there’s still a bunch of things to do and… My practices aren’t over yet.”

“If the practice schedule came to you, you would be stuck in this place all your life.” bubbles Jisung, helping Jeongin standing up and following him to the changing room. “I guess I’ll have to come with you all the way to Europe. You may never know.”

As soon as they are in front of it, Jeongin has heard Jisung talking about his project. Or better, he has been hearing Jisung and his five-minute voice messages in which he would try to play his old guitar. Apart from this, everything is quite unknown to him. So, when he finds himself in front of a garage, Jeongin can’t help raising an eyebrow at his friend, who for the embarrassment lets out a nervous laugh. “It makes sense, okay?”

Jeongin finds out Jisung was not lying. Not completely, at least. He catches four people within the garage arranging the last details before playing. Then, he notices the walls are covered with heavy wool blankets with horrible patterns, which reminds him of a dialogue he had with Jisung months ago. Jeongin was in his garden copying maths homework he didn't want to do, whereas Jisung decided to sit in front of him in order to show his clear boredom. As he usually does when his friend seems not to pay attention to him, Jisung believed it was the right time to vent about his parents, who for some odd reason did not want their sons and their friend making music in their home, so now he and his brother were obliged to find a part-time job to scrape together some money. C’est la vie, Jeongin answered.

Of course, everything now made sense. Before he manages to tell him, two boys Jeongin swears he has never seen in his life approaches them. “Jeongin, this is Chan.” his friend begins, “He’s the composer and the lyricist. I tried to convince him to be the front man, but he insisted on staying behind the scenes. Who would have resisted him?”

Indeed, that Chan is charming, Jeongin is too weak to deny. Blonde, curly hair falls on his forehead, roughing out his visage. A hand rubs his neck, Jeongin glimpses a few elegant bracelets on his wrists. And rings, too. Besides, there are also some stains of ink on the side of his fingertips, but Jeongin isn’t careful enough to care. Chan shows off a smile, waving a hand.

“And Jeongin, this is Seungmin. The voice and the frontman of the group. Since Chan didn’t want to be our mascot, I had to settle for him.” Jeongin gasps in surprise; the face was familiar and now he knows why. 

“Back off, you don’t want to admit I’m on another league and, most importantly, that you have a crush on me.” The statement has everyone quiet, “I’m just joking, relax.” continues he, whereas Jisung eyes are fixed on Jeongin and begging for help. They would talk later, Jeongin thinks. Well, he also laughs to himself – Seungmin is definitely Jisung’s type: he knows how to puzzle him, and Jisung has a weird passion for humiliation. Plus, Jeongin knows that Seungmin can also sing and, he doesn’t dare to miss out, the guy is wearing a t-shirt of Jisung’s favourite cartoon. Both sly and plotter. The dancer likes him right away.

Over them, by the way, there’s someone playing.

Their music is gentle, it almost doesn’t make any noise. It remains in the background, but somehow it fills up the room. It is nothing like he’s heard before. Jeongin tilts his head, enough to see another young man playing the piano. He recognises his face. Right away. Somehow, Jeongin is mesmerized by the sweet sound.

“He is spoiling the song.” sighs Chan in amusement, “Teach your brother how to behave, Sung.”

“No way. I’m the younger one, which means I’m always wrong and he’s always right.”

“I didn’t know he played the piano.” those are the first words Jeongin says since he’s arrived; they slip out from his mouth, curiosity constricting him to get lulled by the music. “He’s way better than you.” He hurries to add, as if the last sentence could mean something more.

“Oh, stop it! He’s been playing for all his life; I’d be concerned if he weren’t good. Hyunjin, we have the test animal!” he shouts, eventually.

Immediately, Hyunjin stops playing – Jeongin gazes at his movements; he lifts his head from the keys, moves a lock of hair behind his ear. Being Jisung’s best friend since he had memories to recall and words to express himself with, Jeongin inevitably got to know Jisung’s older brother, too. During middle school, Jeongin couldn’t find a reason why he didn’t want to join them when they hang out or just, well, talk every now and then.  At the age of thirteen, Jisung explained it was his fault since he was born in 2001, which made him a member of the annoying baby club. Then, the subject switched to Jisung and his brother age gap and whether a six-month gap was even biologically possible; for what is worth, Jeongin that day learnt that Hyunjin is legally his stepbrother and they have only their dad in common (“Thanks God we haven’t the same mum, dad’s ex-girlfriend was a jerk. His words. They broke up before Hyunjin was born; two months later she emigrated to Texas because, apparently, she was rather into women and found there the woman of her life – Hyunjin wasn’t included in the package, I guess. Nobody’s ever heard of her again and, basically, Hyunjin’s mother isn’t really his mother. To sum up, we say we’re brothers, aren’t we?”). After that, he and Hyunjin have only exchanged a few words about the weather when Jeongin was at their place and Jisung was still taking a shower. Oh, he probably greeted him when they came across each other one day. So, yes, Jeongin said he knew Jisung’s older brother, but he actually didn’t. Not at all. In fact, he learns after more than seven years that he can play the piano and, for some reason, Jeongin can’t come to terms with it.

Hyunjin stands up, drawing nearer the group. He looks sorry, as if he weren’t expecting someone to show up in their cave until that very moment; he hides a hand under the soft fabric of his sweater’s sleeve, “Hi, Rhythm Studio’s ace.”

Two years later…

If someone asked Jeongin if he knows what he wants from the future, he would roll his eyes, grumble a little and, finally, he would admit that he has no clue of what to do for the rest of his life. From his point of view, his life hasn’t changed dramatically since he was eighteen. At odds with his imagination, despite he’s twenty, he still lives in the house he grew up in, still sleeps in a bed that is too short for him and still drinks gone off milk because he doesn’t check the expiry date on the back of the carton.

As he watches the kids get into the changing room all sweaty, Jeongin leans against the door jamb. He sighs; no, he wasn’t expecting anything like this. When a year ago an announcement of a new dance studio popped out in his timeline, he hadn’t foreseen he was going to teach ballet to six, seven, eight, sometimes even nine-year-old. In all fairness, it had been more a consequence than a choice. Once he got out of high school, he got lost among the ways he could pursue, and he soon realized that college wasn’t his thing. Consequently, driven by the instinct of being more independent and taking flight, the only option he had was finding himself a job. Which is why, just some months later, he started working for the Levanter Dance Studio. It isn’t much, Jeongin observes, seeking for who knows what inside the pockets of his tracksuit, but it’s something, at least.

The lights off in the office reminds him of all the work he still has to do, so, without lingering longer, he makes his way to the office work. While he tries to solve obnoxious calculations, appointments and weekly schedules, each kid stops by the room to greet their dance teacher. Jeongin can’t help falling a little more for them every day, though he doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t notice it’s getting late, until he hears someone arriving at the office with a cup of coffee in his hands, “Devil’s work, uh? I’d like to know who thought that stuff would be of help.”

“Definitely, that someone hadn’t to deal with it often.” Jeongin comments, stretching his muscles, “How about you, you can call it a day, Felix?”

“Well, the brats are gone.” says he in a giggle, “I gotta tell you something, anyway.”

Felix brushes a hand through his hair, while tapping his fingertips on the paper cup. Jeongin raises an eyebrow, “Bad news?”

“No, no. It’s good.” he takes a deep breath, “We have a date.”

“We have a date!? When were you going to tell me!?” Jeongin stands up from the excitement, bringing his hands to his mouth as if he wanted to cover the surprise.

“It’s in the can, I mean.” he explains, leaning now against the desk Jeongin was working by, “I overheard the call between the director of a theatre and Jihyo. They were, uh, kind of setting up a date? If I’m not wrong, it will be right on time before winter break!”

“Wow.” Jeongin exhales, “The first Levanter Studio’s winter recital.” however, his expression darkens right away, arousing Felix’s concern, “Of course, it’s good, but…” he lifts all the paper on the desk, revising, checking, re-reading each information. Each red tick. “I’m afraid it could be the last one as well.” 

“We should trust Jihyo, she dedicated herself to this studio;  it’s everything she has. I’m sure she wouldn’t organize a show if there weren’t the chance.” he mumbles, “Now take yourself a shower. I want you at the hall in less than fifteen minutes. I’m giving you a ride home today.” 

“What do I owe this sudden act of kindness to?” asks Jeongin. He doesn’t receive any response, though; Felix gets out of the room slamming the door. The boy, alone in the office, shakes his head, it’s just another day into Lee Felix’s existence.

Jeongin doesn’t dare to forget the half-threat he’s been told and, in a matter of some minutes, he’s buckling up in the seat next to his colleague. Both of their duffel bags, they found out, stink more than expected. Therefore, in order to cover up the smell in Felix’s car for the next few days, they decide to leave the windows down. As Felix drives towards his house, Jeongin rests his chin against his arm, that’s leaning against the car door. 

The wind punches every inch of his face, at some point he closes his eyes; it’s something he has loved since he was a kid, let himself get snuggled by the breeze. No car runs through the narrow streets they ride, that’s why he lets his hands dangle out of the window, as if he wanted to get contaminated, or to catch that cold, sharp air. And the city lights are too far for Jeongin to even notice  and consider them remarkable. 

“I have a boyfriend.” the young man states, out of nowhere. 

Jeongin got to know Felix when he started working at the Levanter Studio and only grasped some words in Korean; working and living in close contact with him, Jeongin had been able to understand without any too far-fetched dialogue that the young man from Australia taught modern dance to middle school kids and that he was brilliant at dancing, too. After one year, Felix talks in Korean as he’s always lived there and Jeongin gets still upset for having one less reason to make fun of him. Having Felix around, Jeongin thinks, is the most similar thing to attending high school and, above all, to what keeps him close to adolescence. 

He widens his eyes, “Excuse me?” shrieks he then, taken aback. 

“I told you, I have a boyfriend. And an idea.” continues he, without leaving his gaze from the road, “He’s part of a pretty known local band and… And I thought they could lure more people at the recital, so more tickets sold, so more money, right? Probably we wouldn’t even struggle that much after the show. They’re cool, it… What do you think?” 

Jeongin shrugs, “Before I can give you my support, I should give them a listen.” 

“I know you’ll go crazy for them.”

“You did for sure.” grins Jeongin, “Tell your lovely colleague: he’s the frontman, isn’t he?”

“You’re off base. Listen, they’re playing not far from here tonight. You can listen to them already.” says Felix, accessing a street Jeongin doesn’t know. He cannot define why, but for once his trust in Felix seems to be swaying. The road they take is unpaved, around them everything that is visible is just an endless expanse of fields, whereas the sun is spreading its last rays of the day, colouring the sky of a bright red. Those are, as well, the last days of illusory Summer - soon, the Sun will be fading away before Jeongin has the slightest chance to get out of work and the rays will be keeping to themselves their warmth, leaving the people shivering at the poor company of withered leaf Autumn brings every year. 

Felix parks the car in the middle of a path among the fields. Jeongin looks around what is surrounding them. Nothing clamorous, although he’s not sure if the ones he’s able to see are big tents. Still, he doesn’t move; he perceives Felix wandering around the engine. Then, Jeongin realizes something is wrong; maybe a wheel deflated. He brings his head against the seat back. They’re goners. In the middle of nowhere - he grabs his phone - and without a real connection with the rest of the world. Right when he thinks they are going to die without being ever found by someone, Felix opens his car door. Jeongin tries to communicate his concern through his facial expressions, but surprisingly, the older sounds oddly calm, “I know we have to walk a bit, but my boyfriend told me there are no spots left in the parking lot.”

The atmosphere is the one of a common town like many others in the province, distant from the Capital; along the way, Felix says it is a yearly festival: it announces the forthcoming arrival of Autumn. With a bit of pride, he adds that his family never missed one year. Until they moved to Australia, of course. Jeongin knows Felix came back to South Korea since his relatives were natives, however Jeongin can’t help wondering what has pushed him to leave everything and start living in a completely different country. The younger nods, as he gets aware that he’s never heard before of the Autumn festival. 

It gathered every kind of person, so Jeongin and Felix soon found themselves in the narrow space present in the crowd. Some try to get food by a tent that sells traditional dishes, others join the already long queue for a horse ride; nevertheless, as soon as Felix hears some music, he grabs Jeongin’s wrist, leading him to a less crowded zone. A little public surrounds the band playing. Jeongin doesn’t glimpse their faces, though. Felix is in front of him, making his way to, Jeongin guesses, his boyfriend. 

“Chan!” Felix shouts, waving a hand in order to be visible. 

Jeongin doesn’t believe what he sees.

The australian boy reaches Chan, leaving Jeongin behind with an unexplainable sense of upset, as if he ate something he is allergic to. Suddenly, he is able to piece together each information he’s been given until that day.  A few months ago, Jisung constricted him to visit them during the rehearsals of the Two-Inch Songs (after years of indecision, they chose this name for the band). Given that Jeongin couldn’t decline his invite, he showed up at the garage; Seungmin handed him a paper, saying they had just churned out the lyrics of their new song. Reading of young, pure love, Jeongin whispered to his best friend's boyfriend whether Jisung had become a romantic. In response, Seungmin bubbled it wasn’t his work. On the other hand, it was written by Chan for his significant other . Verily, Jeongin didn’t expect that special one to be Felix. 

Jeongin sighs, walking towards the couple. He finds Chan and Felix hugging each other; just for a moment, the idea of turning around and returning home on foot attracts Jeongin more than it would be fair doing. Sadly, his eyes meet with Chan’s, making any plans of escape useless. “Jeongin! What brings you here?”

“Felix, actually.” the answer comes out a little uncertain due to the rise of a giggle, but for Felix is enough to glare at both Chan and Jeongin in astonishment. He creates a little circle with his lips, that persuades the youngest  to picture it as a cigarette pouring out smoke. 

“How- Do you know each other, you guys?” the australian boy turns his head over his boyfriend’s visage with curious eyes. Briefly, Chan clarifies they’ve known each other for a few years thanks to Jisung, the guitarist. Felix nods while he keeps staring at Chan talking, “Huh, and you two weren’t planning on telling me? So rude of you.” jokes he, twisting his tongue through his teeth. The two of them can’t take their eyes off their own. Somewhat, Jeongin feels out of place. 

“Nevermind.” goes on Felix, now leaving Chan’s grasp, “Tonight we’re here together because, hm, we want to submit to you something. All of Two-Inch Songs, to tell the truth.” he eyes Jeongin, who didn’t know how to put into kind and convincing words his colleague’s idea and slightly panicked at the idea. “Gosh, you and I have already talked about performing together someday, I know this isn't exactly the same thing, but we have the chance to bring our students on stage and… We do need a bit of help, Jihyo is making an effort enabling this, although the school can afford it at this very moment. Uh, we just wish there was a way to struggle quite less after the recital.”

Chan’s visage painfully clouds over at the ring of his words. Jeongin doesn’t take the floor, even though some questions emerge swiftly in his mind. The lyricist shrugs, hiding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Something’s wrong, Jeongin finally states. Chan stretches out a faint smile, “You know, it’s not even a bad idea. Like, we need to work, too. The thing is that we’re… We’re having some problems with performances lately, it’s kind of messed up.”

While Chan says something about their last shows, Jeongin unintentionally zones out. Their music keeps on playing: there’s Jisung with his sight fixed on the fret wires of his guitar, Seungmin holding the microphone in his hands as if his life depended on it and, only every now and then, glancing at the guitarist, who manages to look at him as intensively as he the vocalist does. They eat up the stage: it’s clear by the way the audience is mesmerised in their performance. The way they’re able to trap people with their music bewitches Jeongin everytime. 

And then, he hears it. Again. 

He has to stand tiptoe a little in order to see the whole scene, but he is able to look at it properly, in the end. It’s the beginning of one of Jeongin’s favourite songs of theirs, he recognises the sweet melody in a blink of an eye. Jisung's arms are loosened next to his waist, Seungmin is still holding the microphone mindlessly with a hand. He looks down, perhaps to hit the first note flawlessly. 

As Jeongin’s eyes widen under the street lights positioned along the way, he hasn’t seen Jisung’s older brother in a while. Since the last time he visited before a concert in a neighbourhood of Seoul’s outskirts, if he remembers well. The black hair falls on his face as a form of protection, like the petals of a flower protect the ovary. Hyunjin’s hands dance from key to key, and Jeongin has almost the instinct of dancing there, among all the people so focused on the music or a snack they bought in a stand. 

However, he’s brought to the real world seeing Felix and Chan kissing. The latter’s thumb is caressing his cheek, whereas Felix is holding onto his boyfriend in a way that reminds Jeongin how Seungmin was wrapping his hands around the microphone some moments before. The dancer, out of instinct, touches his belly covered by a t-shirt and a sweatshirt; he can’t straight out why his stomach is so in turmoil. 

An isolated note. One of a kind. One of those who leave you with an unforeseen sensation that something isn’t at the right place. Something inside of him is aching, but he cannot tell apart what segment is. 

Audience’s dismay whistles in his ears, and there’s no longer room for music. Both Seungmin and Jisung are looking in the same direction. Their gazes are lost, disappointed. Still, they don’t seem new to that feeling. Jisung runs over the nearest microphone, murmuring they’re taking a break. Jeongin knows not even Jisung believes in that stupid excuse, because he sees him running in the same direction his eyes were fixed on. 

Soon, Seungmin approaches. He divides the two boyfriends, whispering something in his bandmate’s ear. The singer seems not to notice their presence , so Jeongin holds himself back from talking. Well, he has no clue if he is able to anyway: even his hands are as still as they would be if they were suffering from hypothermia. A name slips out of Seungmin’s secret monologue: Hyunjin. Jeongin looks around him, getting aware of the fact that he’s missing as well. 

“What happened?” everyone is now looking at him. Jeongin can’t decipher what their silence could ever mean. 

“Everything’s under control. You’d better keep us up with your news afterwards.” cuts off Seungmin, encouraging Chan to follow him. For an instant, Jeongin tries to run after them, too. In any case, a hand leans on his chest. Felix gives him a sorry look, inviting Jeongin to go to the car. 

For some reason, the terrain is a bit heavier under their steps. Out of the festival, there are no streetlights. All Jeongin manages to discern is Felix’s profile and, in the background, an empty field and some trees. The chirrup of the cicadas fills up their silence, as Jeongin internally wishes they won’t come across any animal at all. 

When they get into the car, Jeongin unlocks his phone. His mum wouldn’t be magnanimous today, he reasons while he is answering to all the texts he’s been sent.  He wonders where Felix lives and where he sleeps every night, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he stares at the car air freshener shaped like a three that oscillates imperceptibly. “So you’re friends with Jisung, right?” the other asks. Jeongin can’t help envying Felix a little for always knowing what to say. 

“Hm, yeah. We’ve been best friends since we were little, so I got to know every member of the band.” he begins, scratching his hands, “How did you… erm, bump into Chan?” 

Felix chuckles, “When I first moved to Korea I looked for a job right away, I didn’t want to be an extra weight for my family. I went to many job interviews, eventually I made it to the Levanter Studio but, uh, I came across Chan a few weeks before getting interviewed for my current job. I’d just had the worst interview in my life. You know that at the time my Korean wasn’t the best, and this man scolded me for all the time. Pretty awful. That day I stayed completely lost for hours at the bench in front of the man’s building, Chan happened to be walking by that road and… The rest is history.” 

Jeongin hums, as Felix takes the road of his house. Chan has never told him that story, he thinks. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you this.” speaks he again, “Chan was quite unsure about Hyunjin playing tonight. He told me he wasn’t feeling well, probably it was temperature or something like that. It would explain why he left the stage out of nowhere.” he stops the car in front of Jeongin’s house, “It’s here, isn’t it?”

“Yes and, uh, thank you for tonight.” answers he, unbackling.

“Anytime! See you tomorrow.” 

Jeongin watches the car disappearing. There’s something that doesn’t fully convince him. And he’s not sure whether it is about his job, Felix’s plan, Chan’s story about Hyunjin or the pianist himself. 

♭♯

“I didn’t imagine it was this bad, jeez.” Jeongin grits his teeth. 

The first cold lights of the day filter through a rectangular window, which is also the only source of brightness inside the garage. The heavy and extra coloured blankets hung low on the grey walls are, without any doubt, an even bigger source of dust. Jeongin sneezes and tells himself to force Jisung to wash those covers on his own. On the floor, his feet step on a disarming quantity of litter, crumbs that had been there before Jisung and the others bought that place and… oh, Jeongin doesn’t want to know what the thing under the shelving unit, nor touch those cobwebs at the angles of the walls.

When, the night before, Jisung bursted into his screen during his evening skin care process (it means, his face had been spread with a white and dense mix of honey and sugar) begging him for a morsel of altruism, since apparently he had just realized it was the right moment to clean from top to bottom the whole garage, Jeongin hadn’t been able to pronounce the word of salvation: no. Instead, Jeongin took a deep breath and asked Jisung, to at least, do everything before his shift. 

Because Jeongin believed it would be bearable. For real. 

“Haven’t been there for a while.” Jisung looks around, as if he were new to the place. Jeongin nods, agreeing. It’s actually been quite a long time since they played within the garage. “I guess it’s time to make those bills worth it.” 

Jeongin doesn’t speak, he just grabs two brooms, handing one to Jisung. They began with sweeping the floor, then they concentrated on the stuff left inside the closet. Eventually, Jeongin found out the living thing that squeaked was a real mouse. He worried about calling out Jisung and his particular sense of hygiene for that and, for God’s sake, made the rat disappear from his sight. There’s a sort of intimacy in those actions - laughing wholeheartedly after the mouse break out, discovering it was there because someone had left a piece of cheese below the dusty keyboard. Jeongin sneezes. Again. It must be a curse. 

Jisung grabs with the tip of his fingers the stinky and mouldy piece of cheese, “Lay off, I’ll do that.” but Jeongin doesn’t let go of the mop anyway. If he didn’t die until now, there is no worry at all. 

Firstly, he passes it through the surface of the instrument, revealing a bright black. He removes the dust from the speakers, and then he’s onto the keys. He’s careful not to touch them too hard, until he gets aware of the fact that it is an electronic keyboard, which means that it has to be turned on in order to work. It gets him wondering for how long it hasn’t been played. Jeongin sighs, “It’s a pity we hadn’t the chance to talk at the concert. Erm, Felix-”

“You mean, ‘Chan’s significant other’” corrects him Jisung. 

“Yeah. Chan’s significant other was quite excited about a stroke of genius he had.” as Jeongin is explaining, Jisung checks every object thrown into a carton box with the script fragile in capslock. 

“Well, that makes sense. Chan talked about it to us as soon as, uh, the heat’s died down.” the tone of his voice isn’t the same Jeongin has managed to get used to throughout the years: it’s delicate, more hesitant. Jisung is as strong and unpredictable as an unforecasted wind. “I can’t believe you met my future brother-in-law before me, by the way.”

Jeongin almost chokes, “Care to explain?”

“Nothing to explain, I think. Chan’s like a brother to me, isn’t he? He isn’t getting married anytime soon, though.” he shrugs. 

“Right, you got a point there. But what do you think about joining the school’s recital?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We are facing some issues, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” he mutters, “Nothing bad, professional things.” Jeongin hums that inside of him again. 

Then, the silence falls between them. Jeongin returns to the keyboard and Jisung keeps on analyzing each object inside the box. In a matter of some minutes, the instrument seems brand new. He doesn’t resist his own instincts; he plugs it in and presses the little red spherical button. 

“Still remember how to play?”

Jeongin touches the keys slightly, as if he wanted to ensure they were still made of the same material. He giggles, “Not at all.” he would love to say he remembers something of the many piano lessons his parents constricted him to take when he was in elementary school, but no, he doesn’t remember anything. 

“Jeong, it’s easy. What’s the middle c there?”

He contemplates the keyboard, until he presses a white key in the middle. He’s almost frightened when it lets out a sound. Jisung smiles, “See? You remember. You just need to start from the basics. How do you think I learnt to hold a guitar after, like, seven years?”

“You’re annoyingly good at playing.” he spits out, rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately for me, I must admit you’re excellent at creating music, too.” useless to say, the sudden compliment makes Jisung cooeing.

“However, this one is done. We can throw this stuff, it’s just… pieces of paper and some weird objects left from the former owners of the garage.”

“You’ve never got rid of their things?”

“Don’t judge, everything could have been scrap material for the scene at the beginning.”

Jeongin doesn’t laugh in time, because he hears someone knocking on the door. Jisungs mims with his lips a “Wait here”, grabbing his keys to unlock the door. There are two, three turns of the key before it is swung open. Jisung’s greetings are almost inaudible from his position, like the voice of the other person. Soon, Jeongin discerns the new figure walking in, followed by his brother. He didn’t change since the last time Jeongin saw him on stage some days before. 

Hyunjin walks around the garage with steps as stealthy as a cat’s. Every now and then, he tilts his back a little, enough to make the other understand he’s looking for something. Jeongin stays right where he is, eyes bended over the floor of concrete. He coughs, “Hey, long time no see!” he greets, waving a hand. As his best friend’s brother looks up at him, Jeongin unfolds his lips in a newborn smile. 

“Hello.” the tone is low, almost strangled. He talks to Jisung about something he’d left here, and Jeongin can barely comprehend - Hyunjin’s words are chewed up, like the mouse he’d seen was munching through little bites the cheese. His long fingers pinch, inch by inch, the skin that covers the back of his hands; on the other hand, his gaze is hectic, shifts from corner to corner, as if he was following the movements of a mosquito. Still, there’s something unvaried in his visage, even though Jeongin can’t tell what it is exactly. Maybe the shape of his lips or the consistency of his hair. Jeongin is left with a sense of cold, as the door slams close again, as Jisung doesn’t say a word afterwards, as he feels the same unsettling emotion he’d felt among a confused crowd. 

He lets all that get off his shoulders.

“Hyunjin came to grab his pair of keys. Yeah.” Jisung mumbles, sounding more as if he was talking to himself. 

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” the guitarist shakes his head. 

“And.. I’ll let you know about our presence at the recital, ok?”

“All the time you need.” he replies and he completely means it. 

♭♯

There is something Jeongin had learnt to live for, even before finding out ballet. It conditions everyone: children, adults, students, workers of every field, parents, bachelors and toddlers - why not? Poets have talked about it for centuries, leaving the readers of all times fascinated by their careful eyes. It is the sum of happiness and relaxation, what for real can make humans joyful. Yes, Jeongin had learnt at such a young age the meaning and the relief of Friday.  

Back in High School, Friday’s afternoons were his moment of leisure. The rule was active and strictly respected; no matter what, Jeongin wasn’t going to do anything on Friday afternoon. Fortunately, his habit didn’t change much once he penetrated into the working world. He has the last lessons of the week and, as he’s home, all he has to focus on is the week-end. During those days, truthfully, Jeongin is instantly reminded that he’s twenty and his life has become stable before he could notice. Or want. 

He’s in front of a display cabinet, sipping the most watery coffee he’s ever gulped down. Altogether, he counts seven gold medals, eleven silver medals and three bronze medals. In each of them, there’s engraved Jihyo’s name and surname. Many are certificates of exams passed and high levels achieved. Jeongin wonders why he doesn’t seem to fit into that sort of thing, he wonders if the ballet slippers he puts off hardly ever are enough. 

His thoughts stream down uncontrollably, exactly like the group of preteens running out the dance hall as noisy as a flock of oxen in movement. A worn-out Felix drags himself out of the room with heavy steps. Without the need to talk, he leans against the wall in bricks next to Jeongin. He opens a bottle of water, hydrating a sweaty version of himself. 

“Those kids will kill me someday.” he exhales, satisfied. From the locker room, a cluttered noise of chatter interferes with the boy’s beginning of conversation. Jeongin nods, recalling that for Felix Friday means a two hours session with little monsters between eleven and thirteen years old. He trembles at the mere possibility of something similar to happen. To him. 

“Told you they can and will wear you out.” points out Jeongin. He’d warned Felix, when the boy, through basic and wobbly substantive glued together, had managed to say he would be teaching modern dance to middle schoolers. After all, he isn’t fully sure Felix had understood him back then. 

“You’re right, you’re right.” chuckles the other. “Believe it or not, they’re doing a good job with the choreography for the school play.” 

“You can indulge more with them, I guess.”

“Yeah. Have you come up with something, though?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.” he sighs, “I hope the children will be able to dance by themselves for that time.”

Felix frowns, “Perhaps you could dance with them. Some teachers do this way with the little ones.”

Jeongin remembers the blinding lights of the stage. And the creaky wood flooring. And the thunderous applause of the audience. He remembers the smell of hair spray in the girls’ hair gathered in a neat chignon, the cold and uncomfortable tights and… And the legs underneath shivering before leaving the backstage. Yet, he cannot recall when he splitted up from all that, when he lost himself in the short clockhand that has punctuated his life. The small cup he’s holding becomes puny between his fingertips clinging on to it. Some drops of coffee drip on the skin. He pretends he didn’t react that way. 

“I know, I’ve got too many videos of four years old disguised me dancing.” he smiles, gradually looking down on the floor, “Oh by the way, any news from Chan, or…?”

“They will try.” huffs Felix. He brushes a hand through his sweaty hair, as if he was pondering his thoughts, “I heard they’re working on new songs. They must be busy, mustn’t they?”

“Definitely.” he pauses, “You’re closing tonight?” he asks, then. Within the scraped walls of the Levanter Studio, closing would mean watching everybody, one by one, leaving the school and dealing with all that paperwork no one seems to bear. For Jeongin, it means something else. But that’s another story he doesn’t say out loud. 

“It’s Jihyo’s turn today. Why?”

The ballet dancer throws the cup of coffee in the bin, making Felix follow his movements. Now, they get into the changing rooms. “Did you know Jisung and Seungmin decided to do some couples’ activity? Those cheesy things you get to see only in films and you thank Mother Nature it happens exclusively in romantic comedies. Well, don’t ask me why because I have no clue at all, they wanted to learn how to bake and, guess what, they’re doing it together. Hence, and here it is the funny thing, they’re cooking for us tonight.”

“Are you asking me to join in?”

Jeongin shrugs, “Unless you take a shower in more than fifteen minutes, I am.” meanwhile, he unzips his duffel bag, turning his back from the other one, “Or I just want a ride. What you like better, Felix.”

Inside of Jeongin, slips in a feeling. He even finds the impact comforting. As Felix heads to the shower stalls, Jeongin puts off his threadbare ballet flats. The stink of sweat gets him to turn up his nose, or he hopes that feeling is going to fade away soon. Nevertheless, he allows the deliberation to swarm his mind; regardless of how it might be unsettling, Jeongin perceived he could settle for it. There was nothing to find in the hidden shelves of a moist basement. He had to keep going, he had to sink in his own disenchantment. Yet, when they greet Jihyo and he gets in Felix’s car for the second time in less than two weeks, he hums the latest fad broadcast on the radio. It doesn’t come to light but, between the verses, he wishes he felt something again. 

Felix stops by a three-floor building some minutes later. Jeongin minded to tell Felix they were making for Seungmin’s flat. It’s placed right behind the signpost indicating the existence of the little town, so it hadn’t been difficult to find it. Plus, Jeongin had been there a few times already. 

The young man had got to know Seungmin when he still lived with his parents. Therefore, he witnessed, before, Jisung making up excuses to interrupt their weekly traditional films marathon to sneak into Seungmin parents’ empty house; then Jisung’s endeavour had been eased as soon as his official almost-boyfriend moved to a free flat acquired from one of his relatives and Jeongin began to support his best friend by not inviting him at his place on Saturdays. 

It’s not been a long time, this is what Jeongin realizes when he and Felix make their way into the apartment. Despite some days the sun doesn’t shine as bright as ever, Jeongin gets up under a grey flock of clouds, nobody’s home - probably his parents left before the alarm clock disturbed his sleep and his brothers are snoring somewhere between the bus stop and the school, whereas the sky looks like shortening its distance between it and Jeongin’s dermis. In those days, encircled by a dim, detestable fog, Jeongin locks himself into the world, which has no reason not to be fading gloomy, too. He squints his eyes. Twice. Three times. He tries to gulp down his throat the leftovers of saliva, although it doesn’t seem to work. And it aches. He feels his skin, used to be kissed by the weak warmth of the sun, getting numb, wrinkly, dull. His throat keeps drying off, thus each part of his body emerges drained of its energy. Indeed, there are days like that, whom only a few seconds can destroy. 

Chan welcomes them inside as if it was his home. Right away, they are invested by the scent of fried food coming from the kitchen. A squared table has been placed in the living room; in front of it, the television transmits the evening newscast. Even there, he glimpses the footprints of Jisung, albeit it’s only a plectrum left on the isle of the sofa and his keys abandoned on the hallway furniture. Jeongin approaches the kitchen, leaving Felix and Chan minding their own business. 

The room isn’t too large, and it faces a little balcony. A warm light is spread by the lighting fixture. Jeongin is leaning against the door jamb, but none between Jisung and Seungmin seems to notice. The kitchen furniture occupies half of the room, the other part would have been empty if it weren’t for a chair. Seungmin is sitting with legs astride on it, his arms embrace the seatback. His cheek hides on the edge of it. Jisung gibbers something Jeongin doesn’t try to process. Seungmin laughs as a consequence, then moves closer his leg to the other one, standing up. Their elbows repeatedly hit each other, until Jisung gives up on whatever he was doing with the vegetables in the pan and places his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

Perhaps it hasn’t really been a long time. In any case, Jeongin cannot recall a period, even short, when all he had to do was everything but being the spectator of his friends’ lives. He was there, after all. He was there to watch, when Seungmin teased Jisung to catch his attention. He was there when his best friend slightly placed his chair nearer to Seungmin’s while they were revising the lyrics of a song. Of course, Jeongin was there even when Jisung decided to grow his rebellious-teenager phase and choose none other than Jeongin to embody the role of the strict parent. It feels like an eternity, the time between their first kiss and Jeongin’s skin degradation.

Once, Seungmin told Jeongin his family was made up of musicians. They all had studied in a renowned conservatory in Seoul, yet their son had always known it wasn’t his thing. Still, he had to learn how to play many instruments, despite they didn’t fit him. However, he confessed as if it wasn’t remarkable (Jeongin knew it was), he never had the chance to learn piano. His father has been a cellist for all his life, and his mother a passionate oboist; thereby, when the moment of deciding for their first son’s musical education came, they excluded piano from the off.

Conversely to Seungmin’s story, everyone is able to see a keyboard in his tidy living room. Again, Jeongin saw the singer’s interest towards the instrument increasing when Jisung, whom Jeongin believes can play pretty much everything in spite of his shameless love for the guitar, had insisted for him to learn. Sadly, Seungmin never learnt properly how to play, but he bought a keyboard anyway. And probably it may not be clear to everyone, that it is just an umpteenth trace of Jisung there. Jeongin smiles at the sight. 

It’s when everyone’s by the table enjoying the food, that Jeongin cottons onto an empty place. 

His friends chatter as if it was nothing. Instead, Jeongin finds something out of place seeing the seat without someone. He doesn’t dare to ask, though. Chan lets go of Felix’s hand he’s been holding until that very moment, drawing nearer to Seungmin, sitting at the head of the table. Instantly, Jeongin has a flashback. It’s like an awful premonition. He takes a bit of fried food, pretending some interest into the current conversation. 

Seungmin unlocks his phone. For some reason, the action gets him standing up and going towards the entrance door. He should have had it coming, Jeongin observes as Hyunjin enters the house. They all greet him in unison, while he is sitting on the only free chair: the other head of the table. Jeongin doesn’t acknowledge his lips have parted since he arrived. He doesn’t let out a breath. Jisung says they’ve set aside some food for him, but his brother shakes his head. He isn’t hungry, that’s what he mutters. 

Jeongin switches his gaze from him forthwith. He hears the water being poured into the glass. Then, he smells a subtle effusion of salt. Sea water, too. It contrasts with the dominant scent of frying and skordalia. 

In the end, Hyunjin picks some food. From the couch, Jeongin cannot help noticing Jisung’s eyebrows softening and his back sinking into the soft cushions. As the group of friends is arguing about what is the most iconic childhood film, Jeongin allows himself to avoid the discussion and lift his chin, just a little, just enough, to nose around a situation that seems so untouchable to him. He doesn’t know why he is checking on him, probably it’s a sparkle of curiosity. He wouldn’t assure it could be called checking on someone, either. 

“Why don’t we play some songs on the piano?” suggests Seungmin, unfolding his lips in a smile, “Don’t make me think I wasted my money, please.” he takes a breath, or he sighs, Jeongin cannot tell. Seungmin has already stood up anyway. In a blink of an eye, the atmosphere gets heavy, as if a thick layer of fog (the one Jeongin knows well) had spread across the room. His nerves tense without his command. “Shall you, uh, play?”

Hyunjin nods. 

He walks through the living room, inspecting the piano. Fingertips gently caress the keys. Jeongin follows those movements as carefully as a midwife washes a newborn for the very first time. He assures himself everyone is doing the same. Hyunjin turns, “Any… any song in particular?”

Seungmin doesn’t waste time thinking, “ Somewhere from West Side Story. If you remember it, of course.” he adds, clearing his throat. “The topic has switched to mid 900s musicals quickly.”, Jeongin wonders if that was for him. 

Delicately, Hyunjin presses the keys of the piano. It’s slow, so it is enough for Jeongin to get lost into the melody. Although his friends are singing under breath, Jeongin has never heard the song before. The musical notes travel him nowhere with, however, the same caution a child uses when learning how to ride a bike. Soon, it gets faster. It must be easy to stumble at this point, he thinks. Sure thing, it is. 

It’s been a minute more or less, when Jeongin hears the same melody being played. Once. Twice. Three times. He counts up to five, then he loses track. Jisung is clouding over again; he furrows his brows. Then, the song starts over. And over. And over. Jeongin fears Hyunjin will end up hitting his head against the instrument, seeing the way he is, now, playing. It’s almost hurtful to watch. The blood running through his veins is embiteretted, though his motions come out exhausted, as if… As if his arms weighed a hundred kilos, to say the least. 

“I can’t.” he grins between his teeth, “I can’t.” 

Some locks of hair hamper the pianist; they hide his profile and trip up on his lips. He’s on the verge of crying, some attentive souls would say. He squints, the skin around his eyes reddens due to the force he was putting for them to stay close. On the other hand, Jeongin eyes are widening; his pupils are taking charge, whereas his body is stuck, and he isn’t too sure if it would be able to function normally.

Jisung runs to his brother. He kneels down, so that they are face to face. He whispers something in his ear, as he slowly caresses his back. Everyone joins them. Despite Jeongin finding out he is still able to accomplish simple actions such as walking, he remains out of the group. 

“Maybe you should get home, hm? Take some rest, it’s been a long day.” Chan says, looking for support. 

“Yeah, you, well, it’s not a bad idea, right? I’ll walk you, home is not that far.” Jisung stares at Hyunjin. The gaze is imbued with hope, affection. His mouth creates a little oh , in the attempt to catch everything his older brother is muttering. 

“No please, no....” he grumbles, as if that whispered complaint came from a burning pain. 

Jeongin gets distracted by the ring of a notification. He pulls his phone out from his pocket, typing the password on the screen to read through the text. It’s his mother, Jeongin understands when he notices the writing in bold ‘Mum’ followed by a red heart. He sighs: when she and his dad were on their way home after a romantic date at the lake, they recalled they’d left the keys inside the house. Naturally, the door is locked since Jeongin himself had been the last one to pass by that day. As if things couldn’t be worse, he’s the only one within reach, because his brothers, those evil creatures, are in Seoul for a concert. Jeongin swears that being the middle son has got harder through the years. 

When he is ready to take his leave, he looks up at the scene. They’re all around Hyunjin, whose chest is rising and falling, presumably trying to catch some air out of the group surrounding him. He sees the other shaking his head, while Seungmin is staring up at him and rubbing Hyunjin’s back of the hands. Jisung hasn’t changed position, instead Chan and Felix are at his right, mumbling something every now and then. 

It’s Jisung who turns to seek Jeongin. Even if he doesn’t do it verbally, Jeongin knows he’s begging for help. His lips part again - maybe for astonishment, he doesn’t recognize it. What he is certain of is that it feels like a freight train had run over him. “I can walk you home. If you want. We live near and… Well, I’m going either way.” he says, pinching his lobe. 

After a while, Hyunjin is now looking at him. He can’t ignore feeling scrutinized, “You.. You won’t be even bothering your brother.” he minds to add. Jisung encourages him, patting on his shoulder. Embarrassment is everything Jeongin can think about. His mind wanders around; it reminds him of his students and their low attention span, which is, by the way, totally okay for a five year-old. 

As Jeongin returns to the real world, Hyunjin pulls himself up. He stretches his legs and caresses his thighs. The greetings take a bit longer than expected, so Jeongin just awaits at the door. He makes room for Hyunjin to surpass the entrance. Probably it’s a dumb sensation, the one Jeongin feels when he is climbing down the stairs of the building and all he can glimpse is Hyunjin’s jeans jacket. Perhaps it’s Hyunjin’s jacket fault if, at that moment, what’s in front of him seems less grey. Or maybe it’s the strong collision with something that seems so big, compared to him. 

By now, Autumn has taken over Summer. A bit past nine in the evening, the streetlights are on, the sky is already of an intense blue and cars travel with sidelights. There’s no one in the street of the little town, the quiet is only disturbed by speeding vehicles that don't even consider the existence of the village. They pass through a few terraced houses; they would be in the middle of nowhere, since beyond them it’s only visible an expanse of land, if it weren’t for the presence of a bigger built up area nearby. Even that bright green, underneath the dark, seems a little listless. 

Forty steps out of the building, Jeongin reaches Hyunjin. The chirp of the cicadas is a last, exasperated Summer’s yell. It keeps him company. The pollen upsets his nostrils. Hyunjin is looking down at the tip of his shoes or at the rough cement that makes up the sidewalk. Jeongin would like to fill up the silence, to replace that annoying and far chirrup with words, laughs, sighs. 

“You don’t have to go home. Not necessarily.” this is the best he comes up with. He bites his tongue, wishing it bled to change the subject of that inkling of conversation. He finds the courage to look at his left, though. 

“Doesn’t matter. We’re almost there.” he answers. He rubs his arm. Jeongin doesn’t understand. 

“I see.” he smiles through his teeth, “Do you think Sung and Seungmin’s food was, uh, acceptable?”

“I wasn’t very hungry, to be honest.” sighs the other. “But well, I think it was.”

“On a scale from zero to ten?”

“Nine and a half.” he giggles. Jeongin likes it. He doesn’t remember if he’s ever heard his laugh, either. 

The younger whistles in surprise, “That’s a lot. I’d give a seven to encourage them. And, hm, do you still have that, what is it called?”

“What?”

“You know that… Cd holder in your room? I’ve just remembered it out of nowhere. When we were, like, fourteen, Jisung and I used to sneak up in your room to choose which cd to play that afternoon. I was amazed by that collection and..”

“Jisung never breathed a word of it.”

“Seriously? But for real, do you still have it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. Even though only now I realize why I haven’t found some albums for ages.” 

“Older brother’s curse.” Jeongin shrugs, but he cannot hold back a smirk, “Do you know why I’m coming home? My brothers are both at a concert!”

“They didn’t invite you?”

“Oh, yes, they did. I didn’t like the singer.” he glimpses his parents on the other side of the road. “I guess I’m here. Uh and, I’m sorry for you cd’s. I’m sure Seungmin has kept them, though.”

“No worries.”

“Okay. See you at the studio, then!” Jeongin greets, waving a hand. His feet had already brought him across the street. A blast of wind throws his hair into disarray. It’s Friday. And it’s almost ten. His parents will kill him, maybe he feels a bit guilty for arriving late. However, he follows the air and the pebbles transported by it with the gaze. He swears he’s still hearing that melody. Too soon, he shakes his head - that wind, it is a sign. Things come and go. And they fade to grey, eventually.

♭♯

Jeongin knows better than anyone else the Levanter Studio. It is situated out of a little town, through a country road known to the few who live in the proximity. The houses and buildings of the village aren’t out of sight, although the main feeling someone might have when reaching the studio is to be in the middle of nowhere. In spite of the thought of many, the Levanter Studio is well connected with the rest of the area and it isn’t too far-fetched the possibility to come across the light of the from-morning-to-evening-open school dance. 

Jeongin hadn’t bumped into the Levanter Studio due to a twist of fate. Sure Jihyo had been, though. When the new-born band Two-Inch Songs was playing around the province the true first single and his almost outdated groupchat with the dancer’s classmates was filled with messages venting over them, Jihyo achieved her dream: she opened her own studio. So, before becoming his boss, Jihyo was a normal girl a bit older than him whom he got to know at a certain point throughout his ballet course. Nevertheless, as his finals were getting frightening near and his future choices with them, Jihyo reappeared and solved his problems. What followed had been the epiphany screaming at him not to get into College and the satisfying joy that came with the first reception of his salary. 

Since he’s been hired, Jeongin had the chance to learn everything about the place. Anyone could see it was made up of only the ground floor, yet Jeongin discovered that, surpassing the bathroom, there was a tiny door that revealed a staircase. One day he ran down those stairs, finding another dance hall, a grand piano, a narrow window facing what there was underneath the metal grill near the entrance. 

One week after he shared with Jisung’s brother the way home, Jeongin is coming down the same steps after everyone has gone. It is a sort of tradition, that one. Whenever he has to close the caboodle, he delays his work and refuges in there. He experienced all kinds of nights within those four walls; bad ones, happy ones, tiring ones, boring ones and even scary ones. His fingers slip smoothly on the handrail of the winding staircase. Tonight, he feels under the weather. For some reason. It might be the rain hitting the ground outside, or the short visit Jisung made some hours before or maybe it’s the stealthy thought he’s doing something wrong. But he isn’t doing anything wrong. But again, for some reason it seems that way. 

He puts on the first Cd he finds on the shelves (Jihyo uses the room as a storage, clearly) and tries to follow the music. There’s no trace of the rigour he’s been taught while dancing; he dances for a handful of chorus, then he runs to the wooden surface, in the corner of the hall, where he can sprinkle the sole of his ballet shoes with some colophony. He doesn’t dare to look at his own reflection in the mirror; he knows he would see himself a bit younger, wearing a dreadful bodysuit and a pair of pointe shoes used only to practice those obnoxious exercises that are supposed to train his equilibrium. His feet still ache, somehow. It’s the shot that some have never squared; it’s the situation of those who missed an opportunity and fumble around in hopes of pursuing new ones. 

The tracksuit stings over his skin, and each step he does appears heavy, grotesque, unfair. Dance is not a fair game, either way. It’s not the perseverance, the diets, the hours spent at the studio or the talent to assemble a dancer. None of those. He stumbles, sitting messly on the freezing floor that once used to produce him calluses under his toes, but that now, paradoxically, constricts him to use his elegant, fleeble hands to stand up again. 

A few metres away from the Levanter Studio, there’s a bus stop. Among the many things his peers all managed to do before turning twenty, a place of honour is reserved for the obtaining of the driver’s license. And Jeongin tried, he really did. For the first month. Then, he found himself deciding between the driver’s license and his job (which paid him the vast majority of the lessons at the driving school) and gave up. Moreover, something told him he wasn’t suited to driving. The voice didn’t belong to the three futile accidents when the teacher had thought it was the time to actually attempt to drive, Jeongin still swears nowadays. In any case, his inability got him waiting for late night buses and scrounging as many rides as he could.  

A leather jacket covers his shoulders. Jeongin’s sitting on the deserted bench of the bus stop, he holds on tight his duffel bag against his thigh. The surrounding is almost as black as tar, a cold wind overcomes the protective layer of his clothes. The bus he catches is empty and he stands for the whole duration of the route. In a matter of minutes he’s arrived at his town, he sneaks into the house and… 

And the lights are still on. His stomach grumbles. The creaking of the entrance door makes more noise than he thought. His family is in the living room, the light of the television spreads all over the house. They greet each other with some usual words, Jeongin reaches the kitchen top, which is right behind the sofa. In the fridge, he sees a dish covered with aluminium. His mum says it’s for him, Jeongin nods. 

He gulps down the food wishing the night would end soon. When his elder brother pats his shoulder telling him good night, he believes he has cheated death. However, as soon as it’s just him and his mum, she speaks, “Why did you come home so late?” 

“Work.” Jeongin mumbles, between a sip of the soup and another. It’s always work.

She cuffs, sitting next to him, “That’s your decision?”

“What does it mean?”

“You won’t be attending college or finding a new job?” she watches the empty bowl Jeongin has just eaten with, “I’m afraid you’re wasting your life.”

He stretches up a little, “I… There’s much to do for the recital. For now, I’ll keep working at the studio, at least there I know what I’m supposed to do. College would be a jump into the void, I wouldn’t know what to study, honestly.”

“Jeongin, try to see the big picture, what are you going to be in five years? Still dancing with six years old’s with a rent that can barely support yourself? Where will all of that bring you? Do you ever think about that?”

He sighs. His hands move imperceptibly from the marble the table is made of; no, there’s nothing to say. Because yes, he has already thought about that. It fills his mind. And if he had the answer, he wouldn’t be wasting it. Instead, he’s discussing nothing after having eaten an overdone soup. Perhaps that’s the stealthy impression something’s wrong. But he’s so used to settling for it, to convince himself his path is long; probably, he uses those lies to get through the day, not to feel miserable at the mere age of twenty. 

“I don’t understand you.” the woman snorts. Aiming her isn’t worry nor sorrow, instead it’s disappointment; it’s even worse, Jeongin thinks - he’d rather be a dolt, than a failure. “I cannot get why you did this to yourself, dear. By this time, for God’s sake, you could have had employment in an entourage, you could have been performing in theatres! This was your dream, wasn’t it?”

Yes, it was he would have answered, if only he had had more courage than he owns. Still, it doesn’t seem to be one of his traits lately. He switches topics while doing the dishes, he presumably wishes his mum good night. 

In his bedroom, there’s his younger brother sleeping under the thick blankets. Jeongin can see he isn’t actually sleeping, but decides to ignore it and delay the discussion to the following day. It isn’t intentional and, in all fairness, has the potential to be senseless. Yet, while he drags himself in a worn-out pyjama and slips under the blankets as well, he wonders if the hammering tormenting his chest day after day is alike the one he’d glimpsed that night at Seungmin’s. Dumbly, he wonders whether Hyunjin is haunted by the same daily grind and if he can’t talk about it aloud, just like him. 

Soon, however, his eyes shut against his will. It’s been only another day. 

♭♯

Jisung arrived on a sunny day. To be fair, Jisung stumbled into his life on an abnormal autumn morning. Middle school is a torture: braces squeeze your teeth as tenaciously as a vise, hormones roll out with undesired effects and, let’s not play games, the delicate passage between childhood and adolescence ends up being everything but delicate. It’s more akin to a stroke on the teeth, absolutely. When Jisung arrived, Jeongin was holding on his shoulders a schoolbag that was bigger than him, had changed his braces the day before and inside his baggage his mum had put a snack while he was already asleep. And spare clothes to put on after ballet class. 

That, at the time, Jeongin knew what he was going to face in middle school, that’s impossible to ensure. What had been ensured, throughout the explosion of their hormones and the departure from childhood, is that, one way or another, Jeongin had found Jisung, the son of the new neighbours, on his way to school and they’ve been thick as thieves ever since. 

Jisung was fresh, funny, cheerful. Jisung smiled underneath the light of the sun, he bloomed as warmly as sunflowers. Jeongin, around Jisung, was a bee - attracted to the centre of gravity, buzzing around the sunflower’s pollen. For some reason, Jeongin was proud whenever he found himself next to Jisung. Jisung shone bright, Jeongin loved basking in him. 

The year in which Jeongin got off his braces coincided with his smug entrance in high school. It had been a smooth path, Jeongin would say if he was required to describe his adolescence within the walls of the school and the one of his dance studio. Jisung made it easier, and in a span of a year he had a good circle of friends. Probably, he unearthed that bees could draw attention, too. Or that someone considered him a sunflower, even though he would discard this option. 

However, ballet absorbed him. It was quick, his routine. Everything had to slot in. Everything did slot in. There had been a tornado, or something possibly near the image of it, that catapulted him in a period of time he barely remembers and that cannot piece together. Within the pleasant tornado, Jeongin still saw Jisung as his sunflower. He chased him. 

The energy of the tornado, sooner or later, fizzled out. Between all the clear images he recalls, the one that stands out is when Jisung, brighter than ever, introduced him to the band: Seungmin, Chan and Hyunjin. It was… Yes, it has been the schism; his way parted, though he didn’t know back then. 

Jeongin supported Jisung and his bandmates unconditionally. He followed them during rehearsals, heard over and over again their drafts, saw Seungmin complaining about his throat aching and Jisung forgetting every so often the chords. On the ninety-first spent in the garage with the eyes on the essay due to the next day, the ears pointed towards the music and his mind thinking already of his forthcoming practices, Jeongin decided he had a favourite song. Not that it was important, just the opposite. He remembers Chan humming the melody and in that moment Jeongin wondered why, supposing Chan was so keen on music, he preferred to stand alongside him and to never get people’s thunderous applause. He shook his head. Only then, for no reason at all, he came to the dumbest conclusion that the one they were playing right now was his favourite. But Jeongin didn’t know anything about music, so, to prevent himself from some catastrophic gaffe, he kept that impression for himself. He really loved the song, though. 

Jeongin slowly disappeared from the band’s rehearsals right after high school. At first, he’d been sent a few uncertain texts from Jisung that invited him to join someday, until the guitarist realized that they were useless. He still would mention their progress and Jeongin couldn’t avoid them; therefore, even though those weird brackets reached the finish line before he would have ever imagined, it was like they never did. Seungmin was always around when he met up with Jisung, whereas Chan never missed a gift for each festivity accompanied by an embarrassing greeting card and meticulously respected their weekly call even when his college commitments took him away from home for almost all week. Saturday and Sunday were excluded. 

So, when Jisung asks him nonchalantly to rejoin them someday, Jeongin is completely aware he doesn’t have a choice. Plus, he quite liked their rehearsals. Their music rocks. Apparently, this also arrived at the ears of a young local producer, who not so long ago offered Two-Inch Songs a contract: the materialization of their dream, in poor words. Which is why that day, Jeongin encountered Jisung in the first built up area that could be called a city within fifty kilometres. 

Since the outset of his and Jisung’s friendship, Hyunjin has always been quite a mystery to Jeongin. He assimilated that his best friend had a brother only five months into their friendship and, since then, Jeongin hasn’t learnt much more about him. He acknowledged Hyunjin is just as passionate as Jisung about music when, at fourteen, they started to sneak up to his room and he saw his collection of music albums. Naturally, Jeongin learnt Hyunjin can play piano and he’s way better than his younger brother. Jisung should never know this. Apart from that, anyway, he cannot say he knows anything else. Among the band members, Hyunjin is without any doubt the one he knows the worst. 

Seo Changbin, in spite of his evident youth stuck on his visage, is well-respected by musicians. This is the first impression Jeongin has of him. As he enters the room right after Jisung, Seo Changbin doesn’t miss the opportunity to check on him. His gaze isn’t judging, but it’s understandable whether someone finds it intimidating. During the meeting, Jeongin grasps they are in a delicate part of the creating process. Chan and Changbin discuss the most; they share a piece of paper that is soon filled up with notes and mumble words Jeongin ignores the meaning of. Every now and then, they glance around us and Jisung’s chest rises and falls in a sigh. At some point, Seungmin must have held his hand because Jeongin catches his movement decreasing and easing. He looks down at his timeline mindlessly. 

The producer runs a hand through his hair a few times. He seems to be at a dead end. Seungmin repeats the chorus and the verses that, as far as he knows, are the most problematic. At the end, Jeongin ends up turning over at the speed of light with the swivel chair from which he’s silently assisting the meeting. 

Seo Changbin, among the many aspects of his characters Jeongin outlines around his person, is rigorous. He would definitely be perfect as a high-level dance teacher. That’s not the case, though. He’s sort of relieved knowing Changbin is not, he still has nightmares bringing back to memory some of the teachers he had the chance to be taught by. 

Hyunjin doesn’t breathe a word for the whole meeting, it’s almost like he isn’t even there. Jeongin glances up at him sometimes, but all he does is tapping his fingertips on the edge of the table. 

“Well, we can only try to play and see where it goes.” are the words that slip out from Changbin’s mouth, “Can we?” 

The uncertainty makes Jeongin frown, mostly because he didn’t expect that from someone like him. He directs, he doesn’t ask for permission. However, it looks like only Jeongin perceived the insecurity in his voice. Besides Chan, everyone stands up; Jisung grips the guitar, Seungmin hums some gibberish to warm up. Actually, it’s only Hyunjin who doesn’t move. If possible, this confuses the infiltrator even more. At Jisung’s right, the keyboard stands alone and, as stupid as it might sound, also a little lonely, empty. It’s Hyunjin’s turn to sigh, at that point. His muscles tense, now Jeongin is almost surprised this is arising no reaction from Changbin. 

“Just give it a try, Hyunjin.” says, then, Seungmin who is surely the most reasonable in the room, “It’s not gonna hurt. I swear.” he stretches out his arm, although Hyunjin is too far to catch it to stand up. Out of the whole situation, Jeongin supposes that no one knows the origin of Hyunjin’s behaviour or, instead, no one wants it to be public. Yet, within the room, there’s no one who could potentially damage his image. 

Changbin brings his elbows down on the surface of the table, his hands intertwined as if he was praying hide half of his face. “Hyunjin, I’m asking you this for the last time, what’s the matter? Why aren’t you collaborating? Your lyrics? Where have you gone? You cannot work like that, nobody can. If you don’t want to do this for yourself, make an effort for your brother, for your band. It’s not a game anymore. It’s your job, treat it seriously. Please.” 

The saliva Hyunjin gulps down is pretty evident. Again, he tortures his lips with his teeth. Jeongin asks himself what kind of words would come out, if Hyunjin answered. The knuckles turn almost to white by holding the table, completely and strongly stuck on the floor.  Jisung dares to make eye contact with him, but, whatever he says, it doesn’t work. 

Changbin shakes his head, “I’ve had enough for today. I dismiss you. Hyunjin, we’re having a talk.” 

As everyone is getting out of the door, Hyunjin manages to nod. Jeongin doesn’t speak nor greet, he has no clue of what would be fair doing after what he’s seen. Out of the building, Jeongin glimpses Jisung looking back at the front gate - it’s almost imperceptible the way his gaze is not exactly on the object, but rather on what he left inside. Slowly, the sun is clouded over and only one side of Jisung is touched by the light. For the first time since Jisung crossed his path, Jeongin is curious about how sunflowers live through winter, when the rays of sun don’t unfold them to blossom their own way. 

Nine minutes into waiting for the bus that was supposed to arrive fifteen minutes before, Jeongin knows he won’t be home in time to eat with his little brother and supply him with a delicious prefabricated lunch. He shrugs, at the age of fourteen he should be more than able to eat on his own. He only has to text him. Then shivers, because he already pictures Beomseok, his elder brother, scolding him for being the worst sibling ever. In the end, he can deal with it. What he cannot deal with, however, is the tough realization that floods into him: he digs in the pocket of his excessively bright green down jacket without finding anything, and the pockets of his trousers aren’t more magnanimous to him. He presses his lips together, in a pathetic fake cry that shows his profound desperation. 

Jeongin has lost it - the magic box that can stand in as a camera, a calculator, a clock and, even though his parents have always been against purchasing on the Internet, an abstract store. Before fearing his own brother’s starvation, Jeongin comes up with the worst scenarios that losing his phone forever could cause him eventually. Cursing at himself for, beyond being the worst big brother the world has ever created, having damaged himself like this, Jeongin comes back to the building he left barely half an hour ago. As he runs the stairs and hopes he remembers where the room was, a worry conquers his mind: what if he doesn’t find it? Theoretically, there’s no other place where he could have left his phone, yet right now everything but rationality is driving him. 

As soon as he’s in front of the room, the door is still locked. He approaches the door handle. Either way, his hand has other plans for him: it remains halfway, hanging in indecision. The low voices coming from the other side of the thick wall reminds him that Changbin and Hyunjin must be there. No, he shouldn’t be there. Nevertheless, he’s still dangerously near and goodness knows what instinct forbids Jeongin to walk away, until they’re done. The other hand finds place on the coarse material of the furniture; only his fingertips encounter the surface, though. 

“Listen, if something doesn’t go as planned it’s… It’s still okay. You ought to be aware you’re influencing people around you, too. You’re affecting your job, for God’s sake. I know how you would work. If you want to pursue making music…”

“I’m sure I’m mistaking something.” Jeongin’s eyes widen; he shouldn’t piece together that information. No, he repeats to himself, he totally shouldn’t. “It doesn’t work.” his hand runs to his chest, as if he was holding his own gut from escaping his body. 

“Why?” it’s the exasperated question Changbin formulates. Jeongin hears some noise around them; maybe, they’re grabbing their anoraks from the coat hanger. 

“I wish I knew.” by the time, the voices become less muddled and it’s just a matter of seconds that Jeongin abruptly steps back, pretending he hasn’t overheard anything. 

Changbin walks past him, hitting his shoulder unintentionally. Now, Jeongin is left alone with Hyunjin on a landing he never thought could get him that much uncomfortable. He parts his lips, he would like to say he’s sorry or to deny whatever this situation makes Hyunjin think of him; if it was okay and he was able to translate his reaction into comprehensible words, he would say that… But sadly, he doesn’t understand the language his body speaks. 

On the other hand, Hyunjin doesn’t react. He hands him his phone. Jeongin grabs it, suddenly remembering why he is there. He can’t decipher the expression portrayed on his visage; maybe, it’s not even the case to attempt. The older boy stretches his lips, Jeongin manages to mumble “Thank you”. It’s when Hyunjin is surpassing him, that something clicks inside of Jeongin. It almost seems consistent. 

“I should repay you.” he states, making Hyunjin turn his head, “For this. It’s, uh, it’s lunch time anyways.” 

In thirty minutes, Jeongin is sitting under a marquee. In front of him, Hyunjin is biting another slice of pizza. Jeongin decides to take a pause, so that he finally warns his brother, if he didn’t notice yet, that he isn’t home for lunch. “I’ve already eaten, I’m not four. Beomseok isn’t going to know. See u” is the plain answer he receives. He can’t complain, since Sungil promised he won’t blather their secret to anyone. Especially to their brother. Jeongin sighs in relief. 

Hyunjin, against all odds, agreed on eating with him. It was a sequence of coincidences, Jeongin observes while he noisily sips the last drops of his beverage like the kid he is sometimes. Once, he wouldn’t be surprised by his action; back in school, he used to stick to anyone Jeongin knew the name of. As things are right now, it is definitely an event; conversely, Hyunjin isn’t quite a stranger. They might not be close at all, but he’s his best friend’s sibling. Hence, he receives the treatment he would give to Jisung. 

Hence , they get pizza in the cheapest place they find and try to vibe along the way. Surely, you don’t need to be a headshrinker to pick up on the fact that Hyunjin is of few words. None, Jeongin would add. He cannot be totally blamed for it, though. They don’t know one another and Jeongin perceives Hyunjin’s proper tiredness from where he is standing. So, even though the thought of what the dialogue he has overheard by accident doesn’t leave his side, Jeongin doesn’t introduce the topic. 

“Do you want to finish it?” asks the other. Jeongin looks at him, then at the last slice of pizza on the box soaked with oil. Jeongin grins at him, but in the end he turns down. “You sure?”

Jeongin nods. After all, he isn’t hungry. Plus, he finds it funny watching Hyunjin eating; without any doubt, he would list it as one of the best things that happened throughout the week. The boy bends the slice, giving it a bite that would be more equivalent to the one of a bear. He mentally curses at Jisung for never inviting Hyunjin out, in another context they would have had lots of fun. 

“Sorry about that.” petty, Jeongin lets his impulses talk for him. “I didn’t want to overhear.” 

“Nevermind.” he breathes out, after he’s swallowed. “Seeing and hearing aren’t so different, are they?” he gives him time to answer. Jeongin isn’t too sure he has it clear, though. Or maybe he has, because he has seen him. Whatever people could say and no matter how his mind gets him believing he has nothing to do with him. He’s seen him. The picture isn’t complete but, for sure, the concept is there. Right in front of him. He doesn’t dare to say it out loud. 

“You know that I have a favourite song?”

“Uh?” Hyunjin frowns.

“A favourite song. Of your band.” he rephrases, “I got reminded of it when I reached the studio.”

“What is it?”

“The truth . It’s… Well, it’s stuck in my head. I really like it.” he nods, “The piano starts off slow and then, it just combusts. It’s stupid, but while listening to it you get this feeling.” 

“Wow.” he comments, creating a little circle with his lips. “We haven’t been playing it for a long time. Thank you.” he adds at the last minute. 

“Don’t mention it.” he smiles fondly, lowering his gaze afterwards. “You know there’s a space for you, right? You can create one yourself, start over from the basics… It’s okay if you take your time.” the tone is uncertain, he’s walking on thin ice and fears he may break that fragile layer. “For what is worth, feel free to come to me. There’s an empty hall and there’s this super elegant piano at the studio I work at. It still works well. Jisung’s like family to me, I must open a door for you, too.” he bites his lip, awaiting Hyunjin’s answer. 

“I can deal with this, Jeongin.” for some reason, those words hit as sharply as blades, whereas his hands are tapping against the edge of the table. He focuses on those and how the syllables of his name sound when it’s Hyunjin pronouncing them - round, gentle, light. It’s nothing like the shouts of his mum when he has to take the rubbish out, or the squeak Jisung lets out when he loses at Mario Kart for the seventh time in a row. If they weren’t alone, Jeongin would doubt Hyunjin was referring to his name in particular. He feels again the urge to bring a hand to his chest, this time he genuinely dreads a stroke will kill him and his name will be too soon in the local newspaper. It passes, though. He’s still alive, perhaps a bit refreshed as well.

Yes, Jeongin must agree. People survive. 

♭♯

Seungmin and Jisung’s relationship blossomed like asters. Rapidly. 

Jeongin had been around his sunflower for approximately six years when Jisung, one day of September, bursted into his shared bedroom with Sungil (actually, he was begging his parents to let him move to Beomseok’s very empty and very single bedroom since he went out of town for college - without any response, of course). Not that Jeongin found himself unprepared, he was used to Jisung invading his theoretical personal space at any time. What really perturbed seventeen-year-old Jeongin, once he overcame the drenched clothes dripping onto the lucid parquet as if Jisung was a dog that didn’t fear the rain, was the almost terrifying smile enlivening his face, followed by him pulling out his phone and showing Jeongin an unknown Instagram account. 

“Should I follow him?” 

In the most questionable way, Jeongin came across Kim Seungmin. Throughout the next months, more and more pieces of information decked out the owner of the account: broad shoulders, big smile, captivating eyes, angelic voice. Jeongin wasn’t aware Jisung knew so many adjectives and genuinely doubted why the length of someone’s shoulders should be, by any standard, an essential fact. It wasn’t, Jisung admitted, but they stood out. 

However, only on New Year’s Eve Jisung came clean about why he wanted to contact a complete stranger out of the blue. They were lying on the damp grass of his best friend’s garden, while his family was inside to open sparkling wine before it struck midnight. Jeongin couldn’t care less about drinking that night and, even if he had cared, his status of minor and Jisung's parents would have been against him; hence, a can of coke divided him and Jisung who, for the record, was showing off his adulthood drinking a plain, probably low end, spritzer. Jeongin assumed that the spritzer induced Jisung to confess, after he ranted for at least an hour about his just-out-of-high-school project of a band, that “Actually, his shoulders didn’t exactly stand out. It’s that… Wait, it’s already midnight!?” Jeongin, now on the elder’s bed, quickly checked the time: it was definitely over midnight, but he decided that Jisung shouldn’t know that. “Oh, okay. I promised myself to tell you before the new year. Erm, I was saying, it isn’t about shoulders. I’m not sure whether this is at the very least reasonable but - you know the butterflies in the stomach things? Pretty much that. I, I’ve heard his voice, okay? And you should believe me when I say that it has my skin shivering. Or it has my eyes on the verge of tears. I do feel this. At first he was interesting but all of a sudden… All of a sudden I think I fell in love. Is it too soon?”

Unfortunately, Jeongin didn’t know if it was soon. He knew that something in Jisung’s words hit him, too. 

Jeongin physically met Seungmin five months into the new year, when Two-Inch Songs played for him their first song.  And, by the end of the summer, Jeongin caught Jisung and Seungmin kissing passionately in the backyard of his house. Jeongin shivered, that time. From that day on, Jeongin forgot how his routine worked before Jisung and Seungmin, or Seungmin and Jisung, became the dancer’s etymological definition to the noun couple. Eventually, Jeongin got aware of the fact that the sun shining on the sunflower was Seungmin and that the sun loved the sunflower just as much as the sunflower loved the sun. 

Three years after Jeongin acknowledged Seungmin existence, he is comfortably sitting on the sofa with his legs covering almost the whole piece of furniture because Jisung and Seungmin are so kind and pure, that they allowed their friend to take up space on the sofa, whereas they would split up the armchair. Their excuses don’t work anymore, but Jeongin is keen on letting them believe the opposite. Consequently, he grabs a blanket and enjoys the film they are watching anyway. 

The ground floor of the house is totally dark. The light of the television crushes against their visages. Jeongin cannot tell what is louder between the actors arguing on the screen or his friends, two people with absolutely no shame, who haven’t pulled away their lips from one another since the main character said a cliché about love that apparently led them into the first phase of their relationship again. Normally, Jeongin would run off to the kitchen where Jisung and, he has to remember, Hyunjin’s father, a going grey man that offers him a cup of tea even on August, would make small talks with him until someone, Seungmin or Jisung depending on the cases, breaks into the kitchen saying they’ve been looking for him. Regrettably, that night both of his parents are busy with a charity dinner so Jeongin has nowhere to hide but the bathroom upstairs. 

Some water spills out from the sink; Jeongin doesn’t do that so as not to get disturbed by someone, he… He thinks he wants company. Hearing the water fills the silence, when he’s looking at the reflection of himself in the mirror. His skin isn’t anywhere near perfect. The blackheads are taking over his nose, that’s never appeared rounder at his eyes - black holes, just another mirror. It might be an umpteenth layer of protection. Jeongin runs an index on his cheek, coming across little pimples that annoyed him more than expected. He's a kid. And he’s doing whatever not to seem one. Or maybe, just maybe, under the oily skin and irregularities of his face, he’s forgotten how twenty years olds act. No. No, he doesn’t have the faintest idea of how young adults act. He wasn’t even supposed to be there, he observes laughing to himself. Jeongin has this feeling that…

A melody gets him lifting his head. He recognizes the song for how funny it sounds; he must have played it sometimes when he took those impossible piano classes as a child. That’s for sure the reason why he knows the song; probably, it is a soundtrack from the Lion King or something. Therefore, perhaps impelled by the familiarity of the music or by the sound always intriguing of the piano, Jeongin follows the sound as if he was Little Thumb on his way home. The television is still loud, but not enough to deconcentrate him. 

As he is in front of a white, closed door, Jeongin is sure about who he is going to find within. Careful not to disturb, he opens the door as silently as possible. The room is quite narrow and long; though, there’s, on one side, enough space for a closet, a piano and two shelves containing a collection of cd and, on the other side, a bookshelf and a bed. Jeongin is opposite the window and he doesn’t need to move to see who’s playing, not only because he already knew. Even if that one is a totally dumb, childish song, Jeongin cannot help stretching out a feble smile. 

“Hakuna Matata ain’t no passing craze, it means no worries for the rest of your days” sings he, mostly to himself, at the right moment. A finger must slip out of Hyunjin’s control, because soon the song is abruptly interrupted after a few seconds. Jeongin takes the opportunity to approach, standing alongside Hyunjin. “Sorry, I’ve been bewitched.”

“Yeah, me too.” Hyunjin whispers and Jeongin definitely hears a little giggle, “Cartoons’ magic, I’d say.”

A slightly cold air filters in from the window. It’s a matter of a second, Hyunjin invites him to plop down on the mattress of the bed; the springs rumble when they encounter Jeongin’s weight. He tries to make himself feel at ease, by leaning his palms against the woollen blanket. 

“Uh, weren’t you with Sung and..?”

“In theory, yes. Practically, they fell across romantic stuff ten minutes into the film. I hate them.” he grins. Hyunjin nods and moves a disobedient lock of hair behind his ear. Hyunjin is charming. Or it’s due to the bluish light of the moon. Whatever it is, Jeongin thinks he’s beautiful. Not that it was new, Han Hyunjin was known in school for being pretty; at the time, Jeongin found it nothing else than hilarious. He awaited Valentine’s Day merely for Jisung to complain about the dozens of love letters delivered at the right address but, well, read by the wrong person. Now, however, it looks like those years spent watching his best friend throwing away heart-shaped notes haven’t been much of a lie. Hyunjin was and, if possible, is even more handsome in his twenties. He’s aware that, basically, Jisung and Hyunjin are more attached as brothers than many siblings who are actually blood relatives, still it comes too easy to realize their step-brotherhood is the reason why Jisung isn’t as pretty as him. Although he’s joking, he thanks God his thoughts can’t be heard. 

“ He’s just not that into you ? Again?” he asks rhetorically, exasperating everything with an exhausted expression.

“ He’s just not that into you . Again.” repeats the younger, “I felt the third wheel and I came here.”

“I was playing to… keep me company. I remembered this song from elementary school and I went with the flow.”

“That’s good.” comments Jeongin, “Do you think I’d be able to play it? I haven’t played piano for ages.”

“I mean, why not?” instantly, he starts looking for something inside the closet. Among the noise, he manages to tell Jeongin to sit on the chair. He gives another look at the piano; black, lucid, perfectly neat. It doesn’t lack cosiness, either: he cottons onto a small glass bottle filled with fake sands and even smaller and faker starfish. Next to it there’s an old and ruined book whose title Jeongin doesn’t have time to discover. 

“I know the song by heart, ‘been hard to find the script.” Hyunjin places the staved notebook on the piano bookstand. He flicks through a bunch of yellowed pages, until he seems to have found the one. “Here it is. Look, it’s easy if you ignore this part” he points one of the final lines, “And this part, too. I don’t know what you can do in one night but…”

“But?” he gazes, out of nowhere, Hyunjin clouding over. His side profile is, by any measure, fascinating. His touch is elegant, delicate and his fingertips could only belong to a pianist. Jeongin didn’t expect to know so many adjectives. And those, either way, could be empty. Hyunjin is the cloud, Jeongin states in his mind; he should do something, blame him, even. He finds out that it is something impossible to do.. 

“I can’t teach you, Jeongin.”

It has been fleeting, his fire. Jeongin perceived it; the urge, the will to say that’s all I know and that is all I can give. It had been… blown out? How is it possible? Perhaps, he’s the biggest liar, at the end of the day. “Don’t worry, I’m still able to read the music.” 

Jeongin hoped reading was the problem. Not at all. Here’s the thing: he doesn’t remember anything he’d learned in the past two decades. His tongue slips a bit out as he presses his lips together. After all, there’s no way Hakuna Matata is difficult. It is. And he tries to piece together the melody, but what sticks out is a string of sound completely uncoordinated. Which is a shame for a dancer. For what it's worth, it seems to be funny since Hyunjin, every now and then, chuckles heartily. Then, Jeongin would keep playing for hours. 

“Okay, that’s not my cup of tea. It doesn’t even sound similar! Are you sure that’s the right paper?”

“Would say so.”

“I have to go before Jisung will notice I vanished from anywhere in a span of three metres.” he sighs, “You can trust me, if you want to, uh… have someone to keep you company. Or a place without someone watching at least once a week He’s just not that into you .” 

“Thank you.” he says, words crushing against his teeth. That’s enough. 

He’s not sure what is aiming him; probably, Jisung’s sight is stuck in his mind, or he does feel that perhaps someone as sensitive as Hyunjin has fallen by accident in such a nasty and rough world. Or simply, he is into the blue surrounding his ash grey, the last ruins of a blown out fire.